


The Boy Who Existed- Book One

by viceroy_of_the_verse (gay_caesar)



Series: The Boy Who Existed [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boy-Who-Lived Neville, Child Abuse, Gen, Manipulative Dumbledore, Series Re-write, Slytherin Harry, mlm author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:27:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3246266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_caesar/pseuds/viceroy_of_the_verse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'So, Neville Longbottom has come to Hogwarts. I'm Malfoy. And this is Potter, Crabbe, and Goyle.' Malfoy sounded a bit like a shopkeeper with a sales pitch. </p><p>A boy with red hair, who'd been standing behind Longbottom, snorted at Malfoy's introductions.</p><p>'Think my name is funny, do you? No need to guess yours. Red hair, ratty clothes, you must be a Weasley. You wouldn't want to go making friends with his sort, Longbottom. I can help you there.' Malfoy stuck his hand out.</p><p>Longbottom, who seemed very nervous, took a big breath, and, as though puffing his chest out would make him seem more intimidating, tried sneering at Malfoy's hand. 'I have my own ideas about who I should be making friends with, Malfoy.'</p><p>Harry wondered what exactly everyone was so impressed with. Longbottom was rather pathetic, really. And more than a little rude. "</p><p>Harry Potter, a normal half-blood, living with his abusive muggle relatives, has, without Dumbledore's influences, no positive experiences with muggles. Upon learning he's a wizard, he runs away and makes his own way to school. And oh, what a thirst to prove himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boy Who Lived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why won't it move?!" Dudley started tapping on the glass, and, when that didn't work, he had Uncle Vernon, with his much fatter fingers, tap on the glass. The boa constrictor behind the glass didn't move so much as an inch, so Dudley and Piers went to find something else to torment.
> 
> Harry was just glad that something wasn't him. As he leaned on the guardrail, though, the snake poked its head up, almost, thought Harry, as if to check that the Dursleys had left. Harry knew the feeling all too well.

CHAPTER ONE: THE BOY WHO LIVED

 

Harry James Potter was born one night in July to a young witch and wizard whose names, although very few would remember them, were Lily and James Potter. Harry had his father’s face, with his father’s messy black hair, his father’s long fingers, and his mother’s green eyes.

He was born in the small cottage that his grandparents had bought his father as a wedding present, with four wizards out in the hallway, and one mediwitch by his mother’s side. The names of the four men were Lupin, Black, and Pettigrew, and of course, Potter. Little Harry would know these men as ‘Padfoot,’ ‘Moony,’ ‘Wormy,’ and ‘Dada.’

While Harry was being born, however, they would be known as ‘The Pacer,’ ‘The Sprinter,’ ‘The Comforter,’ and ‘He Who Shall Not Twitch.’

Although no one in the house would ever confirm or deny it, a vicious rumor would later tell that James Potter passed out when he saw his son for the first time.

Thus, Harry Potter was christened by Lily Potter’s kisses, three chocolate frogs, and his father’s smelling salts.

 

-

 

As Harry grew older, he laughed, hardly ever cried, and liked to play with the smoke rings his father would blow. Black, who had been named Harry’s godfather, sent him a toy broom, and despite Lily Potter’s best attempts, Harry could not be coaxed from it, except for when he was hungry. Harry was as happy and as healthy as a little wizard could be. That his parents were in hiding was of no concern to little Harry, and he had no knowledge of the war that most of wizarding Britain was fighting. 

At least, it wasn’t of any concern to him, until that war killed his parents.

James and Lily Potter were tortured for hours until they were murdered for not revealing the location of Alice and Frank Longbottom’s house.

Their little boy, whose parents would be killed in front of him, was almost the same age as Harry. His name was Neville, and their mothers had been friends for years, which many people thought was the connection between their deaths.

That, however, would be as far as the similarities would go between little Harry and Neville. While Neville was found in his crib, with a jagged scar on his forehead, and his dead parents in front of him, Harry was found on his parents’ bed, fast asleep.

"The Boy Who Lived," as they called little Neville, was sent to live with his grandmother, an aggressive witch named Augusta. Harry’s grandparents, however, were dead, and so he was sent to live with his muggle relatives.

Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were, by the admission of many people, the worst sort of muggles. They were rude, obnoxious, and, as firmly against anything even remotely related to magic as possible.

Harry Potter, therefore, was placed on their doorstep.

 

-

 

Harry Potter, almost eleven years old, woke up to the firm pounding of his aunt's hand against his bedroom door, if it could even be called a bedroom. For Vernon and Petunia Dursley truly were the worst sort of Muggles, who had decided that the first sparks of magic from their young nephew might corrupt their son. So, Harry was forced to sleep in a cupboard, to do their housework, their cleaning, as much cooking as he was able, and their gardening. Of course, that did not include the special torments that Harry had come to expect from his relatives, like his cousin Dudley's every waking moment.

"I want everything to be special for my Duddy-kins' birthday!" His Aunt Petunia ushered Harry out of his cupboard, and into the kitchen.

The only benefit to Dudley Dursley having birthdays, as far as Harry was concerned, was that he was allowed to go out places. The Dursleys wanted their neighbors to know as little about Harry as humanly possible, and, therefore, were forced to take Harry along on Dudley's birthday excursions, along with Dudley's friends.

Dudley's eleventh birthday was no different than any other. After Harry had made breakfast, he was squeezed into the backseat of his uncle's car, between Dudley and the skinnier, but just as nasty Piers Polkiss. His Uncle Vernon,  as he did every year, drove too fast, complained angrily the whole time, and swore up and down that motorcyclists were the lowest of the low.

Harry thought that motorcycles looked dangerous. Dudley, of course, loved them, which could be why Harry didn't like them very much. But Harry had learned the hard way that agreeing with his Uncle Vernon about the motorcyclists would set him off, so Harry just kept his mouth shut and tried to avoid the jabbing fingers coming from either side of him.

Piers' fingers were much skinnier, so they tended to leave red marks, but Dudley's fingers were fatter, so they left bruises. Harry had thought ahead of time, though, and had worn the biggest one of Dudley's hand-me-down shirts, that way they wouldn't be able to tell what was Harry, and what was the shirt.

Harry had planned very well for Dudley's birthday, because it would be the first time that Harry would be allowed to go to a zoo. Dudley had been before, on school trips, but Harry had never been allowed to go. The Dursleys would always say he was grounded, or Dudley would get Harry in trouble at school right before they were supposed to go.

As soon as they got to the zoo, Dudley demanded that he be bought an ice cream from the stand outside. Uncle Vernon bought both Dudley and Piers the largest ice creams they sold, but before he could usher them away from the stand, the woman inside asked Harry what he would like. Uncle Vernon, caught between having to buy Harry something, and keeping up appearances, bought him a cheap lemon ice pop.

The last time Harry had gotten to eat an ice pop was when he was six, and they had given them out at school, so Harry was very pleased.

Dudley made them walk through four exhibits, all the while poking and prodding at the glass, and making horrible noises at the animals. Harry thought it might've been good for Dudley to have the animals come by while he was in a cage, and have them make horrible noises at him, but he kept that to himself.

At lunch, the Dursleys had to buy Harry a meal, and when Dudley's knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream, Harry got to eat that, too, since Uncle Vernon bought Dudley a new one.

Harry even managed to not get punched when Dudley and Piers started to get bored. Instead, they wandered over to the Reptile House and began prodding at the glass again.

Of course, being Harry, his afternoon couldn't stay that good.

"Why won't it move?!" Dudley started tapping on the glass, and, when that didn't work, he had Uncle Vernon, with his much fatter fingers, tap on the glass. The boa constrictor behind the glass didn't move so much as an inch, so Dudley and Piers went to find something else to torment.

Harry was just glad that something wasn't him. As he leaned on the guardrail, though, the snake poked its head up, almost, thought Harry, as if to check that the Dursleys had left. Harry knew the feeling all too well.

When the boa constrictor didn't see Dudley lurking there, it gave a little nod to Harry and crawled up onto a branch.

"Dudley, look at this snake!" Piers rushed over to look at the snake, and when Dudley caught up with him, he shoved Harry out of the way to take a look.

As soon as Harry hit the ground, his glasses gave a telltale 'snap,' and the tape holding them together broke off as well.

Harry, whose vision was very now fuzzy, was glaring at Dudley one minute, and, wondering if he was seeing things, was watching Dudley and Piers fall into the exhibit the next.

As usual, Harry hadn't meant to do anything, hadn't actually thought 'I hope the glass vanishes,' but, all the same, Uncle Vernon assumed it was his fault.

So, as soon as Piers, wrapped in a towel, was carted off by his mother, Uncle Vernon exploded.

 

-

 

"Cupboard. No meals. Now!" Uncle Vernon had turned a dangerous shade of purple and he practically threw Harry into the cupboard.

Every day for the next two weeks, his Aunt Petunia would let him out twice to use the loo, once in the morning, and once at night, and then Harry would be returned to his cupboard.

Harry had to drink all of his water from the sink while he was in the loo, but there was no way for him to get food if his aunt and uncle didn't want to give him any.

At the end of the two weeks (which Harry crossed off on a little calendar he'd found on the playground,) Harry thought he might fall right over when he saw himself in the hall mirror. His ribs stuck out horribly, and he felt as though he could eat a whole roast, all by himself.

Instead, he was allowed a slice of toast, which he ate quickly over the sink (the part not housing Dudley's old uniform, which his aunt was dying,) while his aunt and uncle admired Dudley's new uniform. While Harry would stay with the Dursleys, and go to the local state school, Stonewall High, Dudley would be going off to Smeltings. The Smeltings uniform, at least, on Dudley, looked like an oversized red nylon balloon, with a tie and a straw hat.

What Dudley liked about it was the stick that came with the uniform, which he could use to hit various things, but mostly Harry.

So, when Uncle Vernon told Dudley, "Go get the mail," Harry was the one who ended up getting it, after Dudley tried to hit him with his Smeltings stick again.

And it was also Harry who found a letter for him, at the very top of the pile of mail. Now, to Harry, who no one had ever written to before, this was important. What if, somehow, someone would take him away from the Dursleys? His uncle had told him often enough that no one wanted him, but the letter had to be about something.

Since the kitchen door was only slightly ajar, Harry quickly slipped the letter under the door to his cupboard and went back into the kitchen. After handing his uncle the mail (which said Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge, was sick, which Harry enjoyed,) his aunt shooed him off to his cupboard.

The letter, according to the wax seal, was from Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It didn't sound like a real place, but why would anyone other than Dudley want to play a joke on Harry, who only knew about five people in the whole world?

The letter itself, in the same handwriting as the front, read:

 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY 

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

 Dear Mr. Potter,

 We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

 Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. Yours sincerely,

 Minerva McGonagall,

 Deputy Headmistress

 

Harry decided he might as well try and respond to the letter, and leaned over the edge of his cot. He dug around under the cot until he found a pen. Aunt Petunia would expect him to weed her flower gardens pretty soon, so he wrapped the letter around the pen and slipped the two into the hem of his pants. Dudley's oversized shirt covered the shape of it, and so when Aunt Petunia shoved him outside, Harry pulled them out.

In between pulling the weeds from his aunt's daisies, Harry wrote on the back of his letter. Once he was through, an owl landed on the lawn and pecked at him until he gave it the letter. When he did, it flew off. After chancing a look at the window, to make sure his aunt hadn't been looking, Harry went back to weeding. He hoped that his letter hadn't sounded too dense and that the professor would actually send him a letter back, telling him how to get all the things on the second sheet of paper.

The next morning, though, another letter came for Harry, which he quickly shoved under the door, as he had with the first one. Just as he was straightening up, though, his aunt noticed him.

"What are are you doing there?" His aunt looked at him the way one might look at a particularly bothersome insect.

"There was a spider." Harry had been thinking about insects, he supposed, but he'd sounded panicked. At least, he thought he'd sounded panicked.

Aunt Petunia didn't seem to notice anything strange about it, though, so he hurried up and began fixing breakfast.

Afterward, Harry stood by the sink for what felt like forever, trying not to make it seem like he was doing something his aunt and uncle would hate.

As soon as he could go without his aunt being suspicious, he got back to his cupboard, and as he opened the letter, he almost ripped the envelope, he was so nervous.

 

Dear Mr. Potter,

Although your relatives should have already been informed of this information, your school supplies may be purchased from numerous shops in Diagon Alley, located in London. You may reach Diagon Alley via The Leaky Cauldron Pub.

You may access the train to Hogwarts from Platform 9 and 3/4, London Station.

Best of luck,

Minerva McGonagall.

 

Harry wasn't exactly sure how he was going to get to London, but at least he knew where in London he was going.


	2. A Vanishing Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hogwarts?" Harry's attention was stolen from the tape measure by the voice of the blonde boy standing next to him, who he hadn't even noticed.
> 
> "Yes." Harry hadn't had a lot of practice with children his own age, thanks to Dudley, and he was a little afraid of trying to talk to him.
> 
> The boy looked him up and down, and he must’ve noticed how strange Harry’s clothes looked, because he looked at him the way his aunt always did. "Muggleborn?"

CHAPTER TWO: A VANISHING ACT

 

The letter Ms. McGonagall had sent also listed the street address, in London, of the Leaky Cauldron pub. Clearly, she expected Harry’s “family” to take him there.

Harry, however, was expecting his Aunt and Uncle to lock him in the cupboard the whole rest of the summer if he so much as mentioned the letter. So, he spent the next few days trying to figure out a way to sneak out of the house without drawing his aunt’s attention.

Harry finally decided to knick a few pounds from his Aunt Petunia’s purse. The thought of getting caught was like a heavy ball in the middle of his stomach, but the idea of getting away from the Dursleys was worth it. There wasn’t much Harry could think of that he wouldn’t do to get away from his relatives, and grabbing a tenner that was poking out of his aunt’s bag was not on the list.

After stuffing it into the pocket of Dudley’s old trousers, along with the other page of McGonagall’s letter, Harry went outside to start weeding Aunt Petunia's garden. Aunt Petunia had a garden that had won multiple local competitions, because of (although she liked to say 'in spite of') Harry. He would usually spend hours out in the hot sun, without any water, weeding every single inch. But that day, Harry was watching the window to his aunt's kitchen, waiting for her to look away.

The second Aunt Petunia moved to answer the phone, Harry crept to the gate and left the yard. He walked as fast as he could without sprinting, but his aunt still saw him. Aunt Petunia shouted at him to come back, but Harry had spent his entire childhood escaping from Dudley and his friends, so the second he heard her voice, he took off running. His trainers slapped the ground so hard he could barely hear himself think, and he was glad Dudley’s old trousers had such deep pockets, because otherwise, the things in his pocket would have fallen out halfway down the street.

After as many houses as Harry's legs could stand, he ducked behind a few trash bins and made sure his aunt hadn't followed him. She might've, but Harry couldn’t see her, so he rested a minute, before walking down the street. His feet hurt, flopping around in Dudley's old trainers, but Harry had a bus to catch. After Privet Drive was a street with a bus stop, and he sat in the bus shelter until it came.

Harry got change for the tenner and a bus ticket to London. He sat in the very back of the bus, next to an old lady who smiled at him and struck up a conversation about the scarf she was knitting. Harry didn't know anything about scarves, and he didn't particularly want to learn, but he was terrified his aunt had called the police, and Mrs. Finn, as she asked to be called, was very nice.

Harry was especially glad he talked to her when she told him she lived in London. When he asked her to help him find the street the professor had given him, she even took time from her day to bring him there. When he found it, she asked him to wait while she ducked into a store, and he left.

Harry felt bad about it, but what if she'd been calling the police? Besides, if the whole thing really wasn't true, he didn't want her to cart him off to the asylum. Although, it might be better than what Uncle Vernon would do to him. Harry shivered at the thought of whatever new punishment his uncle might think up.

As it turned out, the shop Ms. McGonagall had pointed out to him was very much there, and very strange. The people around him couldn't seem to see it, but Harry could, and he could go in, as well.

The inside of The Leaky Cauldron was smoky and filled with people, animals, and strange things that Harry didn't really want to know about. The people, however, were wearing a variety of robes, and long cloaks, some even wearing exotic looking things like turbans, like the ones in the books about the Middle East.

Harry, in contrast, looked like an intruder. Dudley's old clothes looked very different to what the other patrons were wearing, and Harry stared at everything in a way that he was sure seemed rude, but he couldn't seem to stop. Almost as soon as he walked in, the man at the bar waved him over.

"Muggleborn, lad?" The man smiled at him as he polished a glass.

"Er..." Harry was sure he sounded like an idiot, but he really had no idea what the man was talking about.

"Your parents, can they do magic? " The man still smiled at him, but Harry felt rather dense.

"...I don't know." Harry tried not to think about all the times his uncle had locked him in his cupboard for even mentioning the word 'magic.' He wasn't going to tell this man anything about the Dursleys.

"Well, let's start with names. M'name's Tom. And your name, lad?" Tom put down the glass he'd been polishing and offered Harry his hand.

"My name's Harry... Harry Potter." Harry almost didn't tell him his last name, but he didn't have the Dursley's last name, or anything tying him to them.

"Ah! James' and Lily's son! 'Knew your parents. Terrible shame, what happened to them. Well, you'll be needing your school supplies, won't you?" Tom opened the gate to the bar and motioned to someone to take over before he took Harry through the back of the pub. There was a little square space with a brick wall in the back of it.

"Here we are, son." Tom tapped a long stick, which Harry guessed was his wand, against the bricks in the wall. As Harry watched, the bricks rearranged themselves into a doorway. Tom gave him a little push on the shoulder, and Harry stumbled into an alley filled with all sorts of strange objects, shops, and more people in robes. "Building right in the center: Gringotts. Come on."

Tom led Harry down to the giant marble building in the middle of the street. There was something written on the door, but Harry couldn't quite tell what it was. Tom seemed in a bit of a hurry, so Harry was forced to practically sprint to keep up.

"I've a Mr. Potter here, wishes to enter his vault. 'Key should be on record." Tom told the strange creature staring down at him from the high desk.

The creature shifted a pair of glasses down the bridge of his nose and motioned in the direction behind them. "One moment."

Another creature, like the one in front of them, came over, with a gigantic wooden box. When they opened it, a large scroll unrolled itself from the box, and the original creature pointed at a name on the scroll. A key lifted itself from the box as Harry stared, and the creature handed it over to him.

After that, another creature led them to a rickety cart. Tom muttered something about not trusting goblins, so Harry could only assume that was what the creatures who ran the bank were. 

The cart they were in whizzed and whirred and eventually, took them down into caverns underneath the bank. They jolted to a stop in front of a heavy metal door, which had a stone walkway jutting out in front of it.

"Key, please." The goblin snapped at Harry.

Harry fumbled a bit in giving it to him, and he thought he might fall right over when the goblin opened the door. The inside of the ‘vault,’ as Tom had called it, was brimming with coins of all shapes and sizes, furniture that looked like something out of a museum (not that Harry had ever been,) jewelry and paintings.

"This is all mine?" Harry asked. He was half expecting someone to say it was all a joke, that he wasn't really a wizard, and that this money was someone else's.

Tom, however, nodded at him. "All yours, lad. 'Father was a rich man, he was."

The goblin gave him a bag to carry the coins in, which Harry did. He put whatever Tom told him he might need, and when Harry asked, he explained what the different coins were. The small brass coins were knuts, the silver were sickles, and the larger gold coins were galleons, the most valuable.

As they left the bank, Tom patted him on the shoulder, and with a "Come on back to the 'Cauldron if you need a room," left Harry standing in front of the bank.

Harry fished the list of school supplies out of his pocket and decided on making his first purchase at the store across the street, Madame Malkin's, which had robes on display in the window.

When he went inside, a woman, presumably Madam Malkin, greeted him. "Hogwarts, dear?"

When Harry nodded, she ushered him into the back of the shop and began measuring him with a tape measure. After a few seconds, though, the tape measure began measuring him itself.

"Hogwarts?" Harry's attention was stolen from the tape measure by the voice of the blonde boy standing next to him, who he hadn't even noticed.

"Yes." Harry hadn't had a lot of practice with children his own age, thanks to Dudley, and he was a little afraid of trying to talk to him.

The boy looked him up and down, and he must’ve noticed how strange Harry’s clothes looked, because he looked at him the way his aunt always did. "Muggleborn?"

Harry was angry with him for a second before he thought of Dudley coming there. He’d spent his whole childhood being shunned by muggles, as he guessed they were called, and he wanted to get away from it. A muggle child (at least, not one like any of the children he had met) wouldn't, would they? "No. My parents were wizards." It was the truth, if not all of it.

"Were?" The boy looked at him with a curious expression.

"They died." Harry paused for a moment. "I was raised by muggles."

"Oh. Sorry." The boy sounded, at least, a little sorry, but Harry couldn't tell whether it was for his parents dying, or his being raised by muggles. Really, he thought, either one worked.

"I'm Draco, by the way. Draco Malfoy." The boy said.

"Er, Harry. Harry Potter." Harry wasn't really sure how to react to the sudden change in topic, but he hoped he didn't sound too awkward.

"Potter, that's a pureblood name." Malfoy looked at him with a strange look in his eyes.

Just as Malfoy was about to say something else, Madam Malkin reappeared. "That's you done, dear." She tapped Malfoy on the shoulder, and he left with one last look over his shoulder.

After Harry had bought and changed into a pair of his robes, he decided to get a start on the books listed on the school supplies list. The bookshop, Flourish and Blotts, had a very large selection, so Harry took the time to browse.

There were books on the wizarding world, written for muggleborns, which Harry decided to buy, even though he really didn't want anyone to think he was a muggleborn. It was better than not knowing as much as his classmates, he supposed. He also bought a history of Hogwarts, which almost covered the others with its immense size.

There were also a few books that mentioned things about "Pureblood" families, which Malfoy had mentioned earlier. One even had family trees of the most important families, which Harry was surprised to see had his family in it. Harry couldn't just not buy it, not if it could tell him something about his family. He might even (and he scarcely dared to hope it was true) have relatives who were wizards (and more importantly, not the Dursleys.)

After he picked up his extra books, Harry found his schoolbooks, paid for them, and ducked back outside. There were still quite a few things on the list, so Harry set off to buy himself a wand.

He found Ollivander’s, the wand maker's shop, and pushed his way inside.


	3. The Wandmaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Get- oh. Potter." Malfoy's expression shifted from sort of threatening to his normal expression in about a second flat.
> 
>  
> 
> "Oh, hello. Er, would you like to sit down?" Harry felt a bit awkward around the two bulky boys, who reminded him quite a bit of Dudley. Harry couldn't help his eyes flitting from one of them to the other.
> 
>  
> 
> Rather than responding, Malfoy simply sat down, looking like he wasn't used to people asking him to sit down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> introducing: really racist eleven-year-olds, harry's cat, and the ever intimidating crabbe and goyle.

 CHAPTER THREE: THE WANDMAKER

 

The inside of Ollivander's wand shop was musty, dingy, and covered with wooden boxes. There were a few pieces of old furniture, which had just barely escaped the boxes, but besides them and the counter, every corner of the store had a few stacks of boxes. Behind the counter, there were shelves upon shelves filled with them.

 

"Ah, Mr. Potter. I was wondering when we'd be seeing you." An old man appeared from behind the shelves, on an old rolling ladder. 

 

"Er, hello." Harry wasn't sure how he knew his name, but the old man wasn't offering his own. He assumed he was Mr. Ollivander.

 

"It seems like only yesterday when your mother and father were in here buying their first wands." Mr. Ollivander said.

 

"Which arm is your wand arm?" He pulled a tape measure out of his pocket, curled it about his hand, and stepped off of the ladder.

 

"Well, er, I'm right handed." Harry thought that using a wand would probably use the same hand he wrote with. He needn't have worried, though, because Mr. Ollivander began measuring Harry's.

 

Thankfully, though, Mr. Ollivander stopped talking to him after that and went about looking through the boxes.

 

After a few seconds of browsing through them, Mr. Ollivander brought one of the boxes to the counter, removed the lid, and pulled a wand from the tissue paper within.

 

"Here we are- hawthorn, unicorn hair core, eleven inches. Quite supple." Ollivander handed Harry the wand and gave him an expectant look.

 

Harry gave the wand an experimental flick and sent an entire shelf full of boxes flying. With a cringe, he set the wand back in its box, while Ollivander selected another wand from the shelves.

 

"Perhaps this one- maple and phoenix feather, seven inches, a bit whippy. " The wand Ollivander handed Harry was a bit shorter and thinner. It broke a vase when Harry waved it.

 

"Now, now. Try this- beechwood and dragon heartstring, nine inches. Nice and flexible." Ollivander handed Harry his third wand, as Harry started to get nervous.

 

This time, the wand sent an odd warmth through Harry's hand, and when he gave it a wave, it shot out golden sparks.

 

"Oh, well done. Bravo." Ollivander seemed pleased, while Harry was just relieved that he actually had a wand and that there wasn't anything wrong.

 

Happy enough, Harry paid seven gold galleons for his wand, which Mr. Olivander had placed back into its box, and wrapped in brown paper.

 

After Harry had bought his wand, he left Ollivander's and headed off to buy the rest of his school supplies.

 

Harry spent almost an hour looking through the apothecary, admiring all the different ingredients, and buying a cauldron. 

 

All of the shops in Diagon Alley were very interesting, although Harry was getting tired. Before he went back to the Leaky Cauldron, however, he ducked into a pet shop, since the list had said they could bring one.

 

Harry had never had a pet before, but he liked the idea. The list said he could bring an owl, a cat, or a toad. The toad sounded a bit slimy for Harry, but he wouldn't mind a cat or an owl.

 

He browsed through the shop for a while, before settling on a little kitten, with black fur and one white paw. It was much smaller than the other kittens in its cage, and it was having a hard time getting food for itself. They were just kittens, Harry knew, but somehow, the kitten reminded him of himself with Dudley and his gang. 

 

After he bought his kitten, which he hadn't decided on a name for yet, Harry rented a room at the Leaky Cauldron and gave Tom a grateful smile when he brought some food for Harry's kitten along with the stew Harry had asked for.

 

-

 

Harry spent the next few days holed up in his room with his kitten and his school books. The Dursleys had never let Harry have any books unless someone had bought them for Dudley and he hadn't wanted them (which had happened often enough,) so having his own books, that he had bought with his own money, made Harry's head spin.

 

The first book he read was his History of Magic textbook, which had fascinating stories about all sorts of ancient witches and wizards. In fact, it had given him the idea for a name for his kitten. He named her Circe, after an ancient witch from Greece. Circe liked to wake him up early in the morning, but it was still hours later than the Dursleys let him sleep, and it was actually fun to wake up, when his aunt or uncle wasn't pounding on his door, demanding that he wake up and do all of the housework.

 

It took Harry all of a week to read the extra books that he had bought (although he hadn't quite finished all of his school books,) so he ducked into Diagon Alley again, this time with Circe, and bought himself a whole new set. Harry felt a bit like a toddler in a sweets shop- he didn't quite understand what everything was, but he wanted to learn about it all.

 

Wizarding history books were much more interesting than any of the history books they'd had at muggle primary school, and Harry especially loved the books on the secret societies that witches and wizards had built right under muggles' noses. The books on the middle ages were terrifying, though, and Harry tried to steer clear of them after he had a horrible night terror about the Dursleys burning him at the stake.

 

Still, that didn't put Harry off of books, and by his birthday, he had torn through as many as he could get his hands on.

 

On his birthday, though, Harry went out and celebrated properly. He bought himself a few empty journals, since he didn't like trying to write things down and getting them lost in all the parchment he had lying around, and he bought himself a separate quill to go with it (although quills were still a bit of a mystery to Harry.) He bought himself a miniature broom, which would fly around in circles, and even get back up if it fell down.

 

The best part of Harry's birthday, though, was being able to buy himself his own ice cream. Mr. Fortesque, the man who owned the ice cream parlor, offered an ice cream with five different scoops, of any flavor that someone wanted, for only twenty-five sickles. Harry ate the whole thing, and nearly made himself sick, but it was the best thing that he'd ever had.

 

After that, Harry spent the rest of his summer much differently from the first half, sleeping much later than normal, eating real meals, and reading almost all day long. It was the best summer of Harry's life, and he hadn't even gone to school yet.

 

Although he enjoyed all of them, the book that Harry found the most interesting, and read the most, was one on wizarding holidays and traditions. The mention of Yuletide, which was in December, sounded amazing to Harry, who had spent every Christmas watching Dudley open presents, and serving course after course to the Dursleys, and Uncle Vernon's sister. Actually, all of the holidays sounded amazing to Harry, though he didn't have any to compare to.

 

The book on the history of Hogwarts was also pretty interesting and talked about all the school houses and the people who founded them. There was Godric Gryffindor, whose house supposedly valued courage and bravery, but who, as far as Harry could tell, sounded like a pompous arse. He had apparently gone around finding other people's problems, so they could beg him to solve them.

 

There was also Helga Hufflepuff, who had been very kind, and supportive, although Harry thought they didn't seem to have any other useful attributes. But, it might be nice, having someone supportive.

 

Salazar Slytherin had wanted people who were cunning, and ambitious, but sounded almost as bad as Gryffindor. Although, he had thought people who were muggleborn shouldn't be allowed at Hogwarts, which Harry agreed with, although it might have been a bit presumptuous.

 

Rowena Ravenclaw had loved knowledge and wanted to fill her house with people who were intelligent, and hardworking. She had apparently been indirectly responsible for the death of her daughter's lover, though, which sounded rather awful.

 

Of all of the houses, Harry couldn't quite think of which one he liked best, although he felt as though Ravenclaw might fit him, with all of the reading he liked to do.

 

-

 

The day Harry was supposed to go to school, he got up at five, dressed in Dudley's old clothes again, and packed his trunk. Then he spent the rest of the morning checking, and rechecking his list, making sure that he'd fixed his glasses right (he'd found a spell to fix them), and keeping Circe out of trouble.

 

After he'd gotten Circe in her carrier, and packed all of his things in his trunk, he left his room and began the long process of dragging his trunk down the stairs.

 

"Having trouble, lad?" Tom found him when Harry was halfway down, and pulled out his wand.

 

"Yes, sir." Harry was already getting tired, since the trunk really was heavy.

 

Tom cast something, and suddenly, Harry was able to carry the trunk easily. "Thank you, sir."

 

"Mm. Have a good trip, Mr. Potter." Tom saw Harry off, and then he set off for King's Cross station.

 

Professor McGonagall had said that the train took off from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, which, according to the actual station, wasn't a platform.

 

Harry was a little worried that he wouldn't be able to get on the train, but he'd been a half an hour early, and he had just reached the platform in time to see the back of a person, disappearing into the divider between platforms nine and ten.

 

Before he did anything, Harry made sure no one was looking at him, then pressed his hand to the barrier. And tried not to fall through when it sank into the stone. Harry quickly got his trunk, and Circe's carrier, and pushed through to the other side.

 

On the other side of the barrier was the largest train Harry had seen, an old, red, steam engine, surrounded by tons of people, some wearing robes, some wearing muggle clothes, some even wearing combinations of both.

 

Harry couldn't believe that all these wizards even existed, much less could fit into one room. If there were this many people here, surely, there had to be at least one person at Hogwarts who would like to be friends with Harry.

 

Harry was glad that Tom had spelled his trunk lighter, because he wasn't sure he could have gotten it onto the train otherwise. After he got his trunk onto the train and neatly tucked into a rack, Harry went looking for an empty compartment. There weren't very many left, which was strange, because the train wasn't set to leave for another twenty minutes. He kept Circe and a book on pureblood traditions that he hadn't quite finished with him.

 

He only had time to get through another four pages, though, before two bulky boys forced their way into the train compartment, followed by the boy from the robe shop.

 

"Get- oh. Potter." Malfoy's expression shifted from sort of threatening to his normal expression in about a second flat.

"Oh, hello. Er, would you like to sit down?" Harry felt a bit awkward around the two bulky boys, who reminded him quite a bit of Dudley. Harry couldn't help his eyes flitting from one of them to the other.

 

Rather than responding, Malfoy simply sat down, looking like he wasn't used to people asking him to sit down. When he looked at Harry's face, he waved his hand in the two boys' direction. "Oh, don't worry about them. This is Crabbe," the shorter boy, "and Goyle." the taller one. 

 

The two boys flopped down next to Malfoy on the seat rather than saying anything, and Harry got the distinct feeling that the two boys were like Malfoy's bodyguards.

 

Crabbe and Goyle didn't seem to be particularly interested in knowing Harry's name, or in conversation at all, so Harry fixed on talking to Malfoy.

 

"So, er, how was your summer." Harry was a bit worried about saying the wrong thing, but it seemed he needn't have worried.

 

"Oh, normal. But father wouldn't let me bring a broom to Hogwarts, all because the letter says we can't-" As soon as Malfoy started talking about himself, it seemed he could go on for hours. Harry tried to pay attention for a while, but after what seemed like the seven-hundredth time Malfoy had said 'my father,' Harry decided he'd rather not hear about Malfoy's summer.

 

Harry was halfway through counting out the individual threads of Malfoy's hair (which was much more interesting than Malfoy’s recollection of his father telling one of their house-elves (which were apparently a magical house-servant) to  _ iron _ his hands), when an elderly woman driving a trolley full of sweets knocked on the door of their compartment.

 

“Anything from the trolley, dears?” She stopped the trolley, and Crabbe and Goyle got up faster than Harry thought possible.

 

Malfoy finally stopped talking about his father, in order to explain all the different candies to Harry.

 

“... And these are chocolate frogs. They jump, but that’s not why you buy them. They have collectable cards. Oh, and these are licorice wands. They-” Malfoy really did seem to love the sound of his own voice.

 

“Anything for you, dear?” The woman pushing the trolley seemed to have gotten sick of Malfoy describing her products.

 

Malfoy ended up buying at least fifteen chocolate frogs, and had Harry get  the things he thought were most important to try. 

 

“Ugh, another Dumbledore. As I was saying, do you know what house you’d like to be in at Hogwarts?” Malfoy asked.

 

“Well, I think I’d like to be in Ravenclaw. What about you?” Harry didn’t want to say anything about the other houses until he knew which one Malfoy wanted to be in.

 

“My whole family has been in Slytherin. I suppose being in Ravenclaw would be alright, though. I think I’d leave if I were sorted into Gryffindor. Or, Merlin forbid, Hufflepuff.” Malfoy said, and Crabbe and Goyle grunted in agreement.

 

“Slytherin sounded fine. Gryffindor sounds like a really excellent way to die.” Harry had heard that quite a few Gryffindors died prematurely, and it didn’t surprise him.

 

Malfoy seemed to think that was really funny, because he started laughing, and Crabbe and Goyle followed. 

 

"Father always says it is. And of course, Slytherin doesn't let muggleborns in. In fact-" Before Malfoy could say anything else, a girl with wildly bushy brown hair, already wearing her school robes, ducked her head into the compartment.

 

"Excuse me, have you seen a toad? A boy named Neville's lost one." She said. The girl had a rather annoying, shrill voice.

 

"No. Anyway, Potter, as I was saying, Slytherin actually left because of their letting muggleborns in. Doesn’t that sound like the sort of house any respectable wizard ought to want to be in?” Malfoy seemed to forget the girl was even there, he was so eager to finish talking about Slytherin. Harry got the idea that he was a big fan.

 

Harry was about to say something, when the girl from the doorway, who apparently hadn't left, opened her mouth. "And what, exactly, is wrong with being a muggleborn?"

 

"For one, not leaving when your betters tell you to." Malfoy sneered at her. 

 

Harry privately thought that might be a bit harsh, because really, he didn't think he was any better than her. But she could've left, she'd gotten an answer, even if it was a little rude. And Harry had lost a fair share of potential friends sticking up for people who didn't deserve or want his sympathy. He wasn't about to do it again, not when he had an actual (if annoying) potential wizard friend.

 

"Well, I never-!" She left, though, so Harry didn't have to do anything, anyway.

 

-

 

After the mostly uneventful remainder of their train ride, they stopped at a small village and were ushered off the train.

 

"First years! First years over here!" As soon as they were off the train (Harry had had to stop and put Circe's carrier with his luggage), a gigantic man with a lantern began calling them over.

 

"Who's that man?" Harry asked Malfoy, as he led them away from the platform.

 

"Hag something or other. Father told me about him, he's a sort of servant for the school." Malfoy, as usual, looked pleased to know something Harry didn't.

 

They were led to boats with little lanterns on the end, which were the only thing lighting up the shore.

 

"Alright, four to a boat." The man tried helping students get into boats, but only managed to shove them in, head first. 

 

Harry got into his boat quickly, taking a seat next to Malfoy. Although Crabbe and Goyle really did seem harmless enough, Harry didn't want to sit next to them, and he didn't want to get a face full of splinters, either.

 

As the boats floated through the water, Harry finally got a chance to see Hogwarts. It was a large stone castle , with tall wooden doors that could be seen from the lake they were in.

 

_ "That's _ Hogwarts?" Harry wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it definitely wasn't a castle. 

 

"Mm. Father says it's been around since Merlin. Not that they ever practice any of the older traditions. Afraid they'll scare the muggleborns or some rubbish." Malfoy sounded like he was parroting his father again, but Harry didn't mind, this once.

 

Harry had been looking forward to the traditions of the wizarding world, and he hoped they still had the important ones. "Which traditions did they get rid of?"

 

"Oh, almost all of them. You've got to go home to celebrate the Yuletide properly, and they don't even bother with the others." Malfoy said.

 

Harry felt awful. He'd been looking forward to wizarding holidays, and for them not to be there, all so as not to offend muggleborns, was making him feel ill. As though he'd never escape the Dursleys.

 

"And, er, do you have to go home during the holidays?" Harry hadn't thought of that. Maybe he'd be able to spend them in The Leaky Cauldron again?

 

"No, but why wouldn't you- Oh. Are they really awful, the muggles?" Malfoy seemed eager to know, as though then he'd have a reason to hate them.

 

Harry didn't want to tell him, but he couldn't just not say anything. His heart felt as though it was going to crawl up through his throat, though, making his voice sound strangled. "They're terrible. Disgusting, spoiled people- I hate them." Harry surprised himself, saying all that, to someone who he barely knew. 

 

Malfoy seemed glad, though, because he had the most bizarre look on his face. "Father always says that muggles are. That they hate us, for being stronger than they are. That they've killed children, just for doing accidental magic."

 

Harry had to repress a shudder at that because he could see the Dursleys doing it to  _ him _ .

 

  
Harry spent the rest of the boat ride trying to forget all about their conversation, as Malfoy prattled on about the history of the castle, according to his father.

 

 


	4. The Sorting Hat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A minute or so after she left, a toad hopped up onto the top step, followed by a short pudgy boy who no one seemed to know. "Trevor!"
> 
> As soon as the boy turned around, though, it seemed everyone knew who he was. He had a large, lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, and everyone around them began whispering "Neville Longbottom."
> 
> Malfoy apparently heard them too, because he, and by extension, Crabbe, Goyle, and Harry, pushed through the crowd.

CHAPTER FOUR: THE SORTING HAT

The entry hallway of Hogwarts was made out of huge stone blocks, which had been stacked fifteen meters high. Leading up from the entryway were a set of enormous staircases, which the enormous man ushered the first years up. 

At the top of the stairs, there was a tall, stern-looking woman with a large scroll in hand. She was wearing green velvet robes, and in addition to a matching hat, she had a pair of spectacles perched on top of her nose, hanging from a chain around her ears. 

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," He said. 

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here," She nodded to the man, whose name was apparently Hagrid, and he lumbered back down the stairs. 

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room."

She took the time to glared at a girl two or three stairs down, who had been talking, before she continued.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, which is a great honor."

"Slytherin always wins," Malfoy leaned over and whispered to him. 

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." With that, the professor swept out of the entryway, and back into the great hall.

A minute or so after she left, a toad hopped up onto the top step, followed by a short pudgy boy who no one seemed to know. "Trevor!"

As soon as the boy turned around, though, it seemed everyone knew who he was. He had a large, lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, and everyone around them began whispering "Neville Longbottom."

Malfoy apparently heard them too, because he, and by extension, Crabbe, Goyle, and Harry, pushed through the crowd.

"So, Neville Longbottom has come to Hogwarts. I'm Malfoy. And this is Potter, Crabbe, and Goyle." Malfoy sounded like a shopkeeper with a bad sales pitch- not that Harry would ever tell him that.

A boy with red hair, who'd been standing behind Longbottom, snorted at Malfoy's introductions.

"Think my name is funny, do you? No need to guess yours. Red hair, ratty clothes, you must be a Weasley. You wouldn't want to go making friends with his sort, Longbottom- I can help you there." Malfoy stuck out his hand for Longbottom to shake.

Longbottom, who seemed very nervous, took a big breath, and, as though puffing his chest out would make him seem more intimidating, tried sneering at Malfoy's hand. "I have my own ideas about who I should be making friends with, Malfoy."

Harry wondered what exactly everyone was so impressed with. Longbottom was rather pathetic, really. And more than a little rude. Malfoy looked steaming mad, though, and Harry had no idea what he might've done if Professor McGonagall hadn't reappeared. She tapped Longbottom on the shoulder, and told them, "Now, form a line and follow me."

Harry filed in behind Malfoy, with Goyle's shoulder occasionally bumping into his when the line stopped. He tried not to fall into Malfoy when it happened, although he might have accidentally hit him with a knee.

"Potter," Malfoy said, and Harry was sure that he was about to tell him off, "look at the ceiling."

Harry, who hadn't been expecting that, looked up at the ceiling, and saw what they had been talking about in 'Hogwarts: A History.' It was clear out, so the ceiling was full of stars. 

"It's bewitched," Harry said.

Malfoy looked rather put out that Harry knew that, but whatever he might have been about to say was cut off by the echoing 'clack' of McGonagall putting down an old stool. On top of the stool sat an ugly old hat, which looked like the witch hats that muggle actors might wear on a show on the telly, except for the fact that it was practically coated in dirt the color of mud. The edges were frayed, and there were odd coloured patches dotting across its surface. 

For a few seconds, Harry, and everyone else stared at the hat in silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat began to sing.

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, 

But don't judge on what you see, 

I'll eat myself if you can find 

A smarter hat than me. 

You can keep your bowlers black, 

Your top hats sleek and tall, 

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all. 

There's nothing hidden in your head 

The Sorting Hat can't see, 

So try me on and I will tell you 

Where you ought to be. 

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart, 

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry 

Set Gryffindors apart;  

You might belong in Hufflepuff, 

Where they are just and loyal, 

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true 

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind,

 Where those of wit and learning, 

Will always find their kind; 

Or perhaps in Slytherin 

You'll make your real friends, 

Those cunning folk use any means 

To achieve their ends. 

So put me on! Don't be afraid! 

And don't get in a flap! You're in safe hands (though I have none) 

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall burst into applause at the end of the hat's song, and when it died down, Professor McGonagall lifted up the hat just above the brim and unrolled a long sheet of parchment.

"I will call you alphabetically by last name. When your name is called, you will come up, and place the hat on your head," She said.

The first girl called up was a blonde girl with pigtails named Hannah Abbott, who was sorted into Hufflepuff. After that, Harry stopped paying attention.

What if Harry were sorted into Hufflepuff? Or Gryffindor. That sounded awful. What if there were no house for Harry at all? 

Harry was fretted about it all through the sorting, while Crabbe, and Goyle, were sorted into Slytherin. Harry supposed that had to mean they were at least somewhat clever, but he still couldn't see it. The girl from the train was sorted into Gryffindor, along with Longbottom, who certainly seemed to fit the type. Malfoy was sorted into Slytherin before the hat even landed on his head.

By the time Harry was about to be sorted, he had been worrying for fifteen minutes.

"Potter, Harry." The woman called.

Harry took his seat on the rickety old stool, and she placed the hat on his hat.

'Potter,' The hat mused, 'What to do with you. You've got brains, to be sure... Bravery, too... But I think I know just where to put you.' The hat's voice faded out until it wasn't even a whisper, and suddenly shouted out loud, "Slytherin!"

Harry pulled the hat off and hurried off to the Slytherin table. He had wanted to be in Ravenclaw, but at least it was Slytherin. Although, he felt a bit like he was trailing after Malfoy.

Crabbe and Goyle had taken the seats next to Malfoy, so Harry ended up across and down the table a bit, next to a quiet, mousy boy.

"Er, hullo." Harry winced. He was terrible at introducing himself.

"...Hello." The boy had smuggled a book in and was reading it under the table.

"I'm- I'm Harry. Harry Potter." Harry stuck out his hand.

"...Oh, Theodore. Theodore Nott." The boy paused a second, before shaking Harry's hand.

Harry started watching the sorting, while Nott went back to reading his book. Harry wished he had thought of that, so he wouldn't have to sit and try and think of conversation topics. He thought he might go back to trailing after Malfoy. At least Malfoy would talk about himself to fill the silence.

As it were, after the last sorting (a dark-skinned boy named Zabini, who was sorted into Slytherin), Harry managed to catch a glimpse of the title of the book Nott was reading, which, by some luck, was one of the books Harry had picked up on wizarding holidays and traditions.

"You should check the section on Samhain. They've got all the history behind the magic involved, how it was created by the druids." Harry said.

Nott finally stuck his head up from his book at that. "Oh yes, I know... Did you find the section on sacrifice? I thought that was really interesting."

After that, it seemed, the two of them had at least one thing in common. They spent the entire feast (which was made up of all the foods Harry could possibly imagine, and a fair few he couldn't), talking about the traditions in the book. Nott had quite a bit to say about the history of holidays at Hogwarts, and it seemed to Harry that not liking muggles was something that Slytherins had in common. It made sense, he thought.

After dinner, the first years were told to follow two older students, a girl named Gemma Farley, and a boy named Jake Flinton, down through the dungeons. Harry made sure to pay as much attention as possible, so he wouldn't get lost on the way to class the next morning.

The two older students led them down a hallway, to a large portrait of an old man, wearing really, really old-fashioned clothing, who actually spoke. "Password?"

Flinton replied, "Pride." He turned to them, and said, "The password for the door will be posted on House boards. Don't give out the password to anyone."

After a minute of staring them down, he swung open the painting, and they all filed down after him. The room he led them into was enormous, almost half as big as the great hall, and it was filled with the most expensive furniture Harry had ever seen. It was all covered in green velvet, with snakes engraved into wooden backings. There was a grand fireplace in the center, which had been enchanted to make its' flames green.

“This is the Slytherin common room. When you aren’t in classes, you’ll be spending most of your time here. The dormitories go down through there,” Farley pointed to the two stairways leading down from the common room, “boys’ on the left, and girls’ on the right. First-year dormitories are at the very bottom of the staircase. All of your things should already be in your dorm rooms.”

They ushered them down the stairs, and Harry noticed that Malfoy was at the very front of the crowd. When they went inside, Malfoy had stolen the bed by the door, where it was slightly warmer. It didn’t really surprise Harry; Malfoy struck him as rather a selfish person, and he imagined that Malfoy was used to a very expensive bed at home.

No matter what Malfoy thought, though, Harry thought the dorm rooms were amazing. They might as well have been Buckingham Palace compared to Harry's cupboard.

Uncle Vernon had once said that Harry was lucky to get the little cot that they had crammed underneath the slanted floorboards; to see Harry lying on the bed that they gave him at Hogwarts might have given him a heart attack. It was baby soft, with down pillows and a thick green velvet coverlet to match the drapes.

Just Farley had told them, all of Harry's things were organized and stacked at the foot of his bed, with Circe's cage right on top.

While everyone else wrote letters home, Harry let Circe out of her cage and let her play with a pillow while he read a book, idly petting her fur.

Malfoy, however, had apparently given up trying to have a conversation with Crabbe and Goyle, and had decided that Harry would be a better try because he leaned against the side of Harry's bed and said, "You're already reading? Classes don't begin until tomorrow, you know."

Malfoy was looking at Harry as though he were a combination of the stupidest person he'd ever met and some rare breed of bird. It was an odd look, to say the least.

"I know that. I just don't- have anything else to do." Harry had been about to say that he didn't have anyone to write to, but he thought it was probably not a good idea to mention living with muggles in Slytherin. Especially not in front of Draco, whose ideas, even though he'd got them off of his father, and Harry agreed with them, mostly, were a bit harsh.

Malfoy seemed to notice the pause, but he didn't say anything about it. "But you could be doing something much more interesting than reading. I could teach you how to play wizard's chess."

Harry really wasn't sure he wanted to be friends with Malfoy, but Malfoy was the only person who wanted to talk to him, much less teach him how to play chess. Even if he was just doing it because he was bored. "... Alright. I don't even know how to play muggle chess, though."

Malfoy's face looked like it was early Christmas, or Yuletide, that was. "Well, I'm excellent at chess. Father says I really ought to be given a medal, or at least a commendation, for being so good..." Harry stopped listening after that and just waited while Malfoy pulled a chess board out of his trunk.

Malfoy explained the chess pieces as people in a kingdom. Harry thought that the way Malfoy said 'peasant' was rather nasty, but he decides to let it go. 

Malfoy explained it as the pawns being peasants, the knights being well, knights, the bishops being "some ridiculous muggle religious figure," the rooks being castles, the queen being the strongest, and the king being the most important.

"That's about as complex as you'll understand. White or black?" Malfoy gestured to the board.

Harry chose white. He lost five minutes in and went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the hat's song is straight from the sorcerer's stone, i don't own that at all.


	5. First Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Longbottom, I'd watch your purse around Weasley. He's probably already counting how he's going to spend all your money- that is, if he can even count that high." Malfoy sneered.
> 
> Harry could see the way that Weasley's cheeks heated up. In a minute, his face had turned as red as his hair.
> 
> "Oy, Malfoy, what's it like to have bodyguards instead of friends?" Weasley asked, shoulders up like the hackles on a cat.

CHAPTER FIVE: LESSONS

The next morning, Harry woke up before anyone else, which wasn't really unusual. Years of living with the Dursleys had left Harry with an ingrained need to get out of bed early. So he decided to get dressed and see if maybe, just maybe, he could actually get his hair to sit straight for once.

By the time Malfoy entered the bathroom, though, all he had managed to do was to get his hair exceedingly wet, and maybe even made it worse.

"Potter, what are you doing to your hair?" Malfoy, it seemed, was not a morning person.

"Er, fixing it." Harry ran a hand through his hair self-consciously.

"And you've proven you can't." Malfoy snapped.

"Er, yeah," Harry said.

"Move." Malfoy snapped, and Harry scurried back into the dorm proper with all the practiced speed of someone who lived with Dudley Dursley for most of his childhood.

"Malfoy took up residence in the bathroom?" Asked Blaise Zabini.

"Yeah. He doesn't seem very happy about being awake." Harry replied.

"Malfoy's miserable in the morning. His parents don't even wake him up until almost ten. I'm sure he'll be an absolute bastard about it all year." Zabini said.

As if on cue, Malfoy, hair combed and gelled, with a gigantic scowl on his face, emerged from the bathroom.

On the way down to the great hall, Malfoy, as usual, talked constantly, and for once, his father wasn't the topic of conversation. (Malfoy apparently had one different opinion from his father, on sleeping later during school days.)

The breakfast was amazing, covering the whole Slytherin table almost as well as the feast had the night before. Harry drowned out Malfoy's chattering by stacking his plate with food. He's relieved to find that no one says he's taken too much food. In fact, he's taken less than everyone else.

Just as he started eating, one of the professors, a tall man with dark hair and a hook nose, strode down from the main table, with stacks of papers in hand. He handed one to each student without comment, until he got to Malfoy.

"Good morning, Professor Snape." Malfoy drawled.

"Mr. Malfoy." The almost non-existent nod seemed to be the most courtesy Snape could gather up.

"Mr. Potter." Snape scowled at him and slapped his schedule onto the table.

"What did you do to Snape?" Malfoy hissed, after he'd moved down the table.

"Nothing," Harry whispered back. "I've never seen him before."

"Well, you'd better improve his attitude, he's head of house," Malfoy said.

That was just Harry's luck, he thought. To have his head of house hate him just for existing.

Harry's luck continued through transfiguration, where Malfoy fell asleep, and, after waking up and realizing half the class had passed, proceeded to copy Harry's notes. And, during Defense Against the Dark Arts, which was awful, Professor Quirrel only let the horrible muggle-born girl from the train answer questions, so Malfoy spent the class making snide comments about Longbottom, and drawing the Weasleys as rodents scurrying out of an ugly old house.

By the time lunch came around, Harry was getting rather sick of Malfoy's antics. The only reprieve he got was Theodore Nott asking him about his thoughts on a book he'd recommended, which only lasted until Malfoy got sick of arguing with Zabini.

"Potter, don't you think we ought to have our own brooms?" Malfoy asked as he stabbed his fork into his piece of chicken.

"Well, I suppose if you've already got one-" Harry started to say.

"Exactly! Potter gets it. What's the point in having a broom if you can only fly on one of those ratty old things in the shed?" Malfoy interrupted him.

After lunch, as Malfoy practically dragged him outside, Harry wondered if this would be how the rest of the year would go. On the one hand, Malfoy was obnoxious, but, he was the only friend Harry had, and, as one of the half-bloods in their class got slammed into the wall, it seemed that being friends with Malfoy had saved him from possible injury.

"... Just watch what I'm doing, Potter, and you'll pick it up quickly enough. Father says I'm the best flyer my age he's ever seen. He says I really ought to be let onto the team." Malfoy droned on as they reached two lines of brooms. Malfoy had him stand next to him, and Crabbe and Goyle quickly took up either side of them.

"Good morning, class!" A tall witch shouted at them.

"Good morning, Madam Hooch!" They shouted back.

"Welcome to your first flying lesson. Well, what are you waiting for? Everyone step up to the left side of their broomstick. Come on now, hurry up. Stick your right hand over the broom and say, 'Up!'" Madam Hooch says.

Harry said "Up!" and he didn't have time to blink before the broom had jumped right into his hand. From where he was standing next to him, Malfoy scowled at him, right before his own broom shot up into his hand. 

Weasley's broom smacked him in the face, and Malfoy smirked at him.

"Now, once you've got hold of your broom, I want you to mount it. And grip it tight, you don't want to be sliding off the end. When I blow my whistle, I want each of you to kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your broom steady, hover for a moment, and then lean forward slightly and touch back down. On my whistle...three...two..." When Madam Hooch blew the whistle, Longbottom started floating up on his broom.

He couldn't seem to control it, and he just kept going up.

"Mr. Longbottom! Mr. Longbottom!" Madam Hooch shouted at him.

Longbottom almost slammed into the wall, then seemed to get a hold of the broom, and, after doing a wild plummet, pulled up, and landed across from them.

While almost the entirety of Gryffindor house started cheering for Longbottom, Madam Hooch looked like she might hex him.

As she opened her mouth to say something, though, Professor McGonagall came hurrying down the lawn. "Neville Longbottom!"

Professor McGonagall hurried him off somewhere, and Madam Hooch had them return to practicing with a quick, "None of you had better try that stunt."

Malfoy looked like the cat who caught the canary for the whole rest of their flying lesson.

-

After Flying Lessons (which Longbottom never came back to), Malfoy heard about Longbottom being made Gryffindor seeker. Malfoy looked like he was going to throttle someone all through dinner.

"Of all the people in this school to have been made seeker! It's against the rules, anyway!" Malfoy said, to which Harry doesn't point out Malfoy had just spent the whole morning calling those rules stupid.

"Being famous probably helped," Harry said.

"Ugh, yes. Even though he's absolutely incompetent. Father says that..." Malfoy started in on another one of his rants on his father's opinions while Harry steered them down to the dungeons.

-

In the Slytherin common room, Harry started in on his homework as soon as possible. Malfoy seemed to do the same, although he continued ranting about Longbottom being able to play Quidditch long after everyone else had stopped muttering about it.

"Malfoy, what did you write for the second question in your transfiguration essay?" Harry asked as Malfoy started in on Longbottom's clothes or something

"Here," Malfoy handed him his parchment, "but the Weasleys, absolutely disgraceful." So Malfoy was complaining about Longbottom's friends, not his clothes,  "Associating with Mudbloods," Malfoy hissed.

"Mudbloods?" Harry asked.

"Dirty blood. The correct name for muggle borns." Malfoy said.

It was a slur, Harry realized, but he wasn't stupid enough to say that to Malfoy. And really, thinking of the Dursleys, and Granger, he wouldn't say it was wrong. Malfoy might have been annoying, but at least he gave people a chance. He thought about Longbottom, turning down Malfoy's hand. Then he thought of himself. Malfoy had become friends with Harry because he liked Harry's company, even though he could've been friends with anyone.

He handed Malfoy back his essay with a pang of guilt, and actually tried to listen to his entire rant.

-

The second day of classes dawns bright and early, even though the Slytherins had Potions class with Professor Snape. Snape had glared at him the first day of classes, without even talking to him. Harry was sure that he'd hate him once he actually opened his mouth.

Malfoy, at least, was less miserable that morning, and he chattered on about a letter that his father had sent him. "Mother's distraught without me there. Father's had to spend the past three days consoling her."

Harry resolutely didn't think of how pleased the Dursleys must have been without him there and nodded along with what Malfoy was saying.

They had their Potions class with Gryffindors, which gave Longbottom and Weasley the opportunity to talk about how horrible Slytherins were. 

"Longbottom, I'd watch your purse around Weasley. He's probably already counting how he's going to spend all your money- that is, if he can even count that high." Malfoy sneered.

Harry could see the way that Weasley's cheeks heated up. In a minute, his face had turned as red as his hair.

"Oy, Malfoy, what's it like to have bodyguards instead of friends?" Weasley asked, shoulders up like the hackles on a cat.

"I wonder what it must be like to only be friends with someone so you can leech off of their money, Weasley. Maybe you could spit-shine Longbottom's boots since you already drool around him," Harry said it so fast that he hadn't realized it was him saying it until the words were out of his mouth. He felt horrible- he'd grown up without any money, and he'd been perfectly nice if anyone had gotten to know him. But, he reminded himself, they hadn't. No one had, except Malfoy. He had no reason to feel bad, he was just sticking up for his friend.

"Mm, Weasley, you'd marry an actual weasel for two sickles to rub together," Malfoy smirked at him.

Weasley began to turn a horrible shade of purple and fumbled his wand out just as Professor Snape swept up from behind him. "Five points from Gryffindor for having your wand out in the hallway, Mr. Weasley." He opened the door. "In."

Malfoy steered Harry to the front desks so that Harry had no choice but to partner with him. Snape liked Malfoy, though. It couldn't hurt to sit next to him, he thought.

When the muttered fights over who would sit with who were over, Snape flicked his wand to close the heavy curtains over the windows. "There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to enjoy the subtle science and exact art that is potion making. However, for those select few," Snape paused to look at their bench, where Malfoy smiled at him, "who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper in death." Snape's eyes flicked to the Gryffindor side of the room and settled on one corner.

"Then again, perhaps some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not... pay... attention." Snape stretched out his sentence so that he came to stand over Longbottom's shoulder just as he snapped out a sharp 'attention.'

Malfoy turned to look, and Harry followed him. Longbottom had been doodling something on his paper, but when Granger nudged him, he looked up.

"Mr. Longbottom. Our new... celebrity. Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Snape moved closer to Longbottom's desk, and Longbottom looked a bit terrified. He shook his head.

"You don't know? Well, let's try again. Where, Mr. Longbottom, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?" Snape asked.

Longbottom was practically trembling by this point, but he cleared his throat and said, "I don't know, Sir."

"Pity. Mr. Potter," Snape turned sharply, and glared at Harry, as though daring him not to know the answer, "what is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?"

"...There is no difference, professor. They're both Aconite." Harry said.

Snape stared at him for a long moment, a strange look in his eyes, before turning back to glare at Longbottom. "Correct. Clearly, fame isn't everything, is it, Mr. Longbottom?" Snape strode down the steps to stand behind his enormous oak desk, and wrote something down on the board behind it. "Slytherins, note that five points will be awarded to your house, and five points will be taken from Gryffindor, for being ill-prepared for class." Here he glared at Longbottom again.

Snape had them brewing basic healing potions, which Harry actually liked. He'd had a lot of experience cooking food, and potions weren't all that different. 

Longbottom, however, melted his cauldron and sent suspiciously green liquid splashing all over his and Granger's laps. Malfoy looked like he might hurt himself from trying not to laugh.

Malfoy was not best pleased, however, when Snape, so grudgingly it looked like it might hurt him, admitted Harry's potion was "more than adequate."

Malfoy scowled all the way to Herbology, but Harry felt better.


	6. All Hollows Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As they were going to bed that night, Harry said to Malfoy, quietly, 'Malfoy, thank you. For being my friend.'
> 
> Malfoy looked surprised. Before Harry had time to worry about assuming they were friends, Malfoy clapped him on the shoulder. 'You're welcome, Potter. After all,' he said, with a smug look, 'someone has to keep you in your real place. Amongst the elite.'
> 
> Although it might've sounded callous to someone else, Harry felt touched."

CHAPTER SIX: ALL HALLOWS EVE

After the first week of classes, everything becomes almost routine. Wake up, eat breakfast, have Malfoy make snide comments at the Gryffindors, Longbottom would pretend like he was brave, eat lunch, repeat, eat dinner, sleep, repeat.

The only difference was that Malfoy himself seemed to be more tolerable as the year went on. The third week of classes, a fifth year talking about blood traitors looks at Harry, and Malfoy glares at him until he ducks his head.

Malfoy still copies off of his History of Magic notes, and talks incessantly about things his father's said, but Harry feels less like he's following Malfoy around, and more like he's actually Malfoy's friend.

Which is how, on Halloween, another holiday he had never celebrated, and wouldn't get to, all because of a troll, Harry found himself sneaking down to the kitchens with Malfoy. It probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but Harry figured if Malfoy knew where they were going, he could lead them there, and Harry could look out for a teacher.

Malfoy tickled the pear in the portrait, and it opened.

"Why the pear?" Harry asked.

"No idea. Father told me, in case I couldn't get away with bringing Dobby into the dorm." Malfoy said.

"Who's Dobby?" Harry asked.

"One of our house elves. He's absolutely mental." Malfoy muttered as he walked through the portrait.

"Why do you say that?" Harry asked.

"Stupid thing believes he should have the same rights as a wizard." Malfoy said, in what Harry imagined was most likely an unintentional impression of his father.

Harry thought about the books he had bought in wizarding society, whether they had mentioned House Elves or not. "Don't they usually sort of... Hero worship their owners?"

"Mm. All three of our other House Elves are obedient, and come when father calls. Dobby's absolutely useless when it comes to obeying orders. Which is why we're down here." Malfoy scowled.

Harry looked up at the room they'd come through. It was full of short, large eared creatures, wearing pillow cases. House Elves, Harry thought, looked a bit like fleshy bats.

Malfoy cleared his throat, and all but one of the house elves, who had previously been talking in hushed tones, looked up immediately. One of them stepped away from the crowd, and dipped its head. "What can Tinker be doing for Master Malfoy?"

"You can get my friend and I some of the leftovers from the feast. Hot." Malfoy drawled.

The house elf, Tinky, bowed low, so his ears touched the ground, before rushing off to get them food.

"Does the school just own House Elves?" Harry asked.

"No, people send them here with their children. Although some of them," Malfoy said, with a glare towards the elf who hadn't looked up, "are not helpful."

The elf jutted his chin out, and met Malfoy's eyes straight on. Harry distinctly remembered that house elves were not supposed to make eye contact.

"Dobby will not serve Master Malfoy or any of his friends until he is free!" The house elf exclaimed.

Malfoy glared at him. "Well, then I suppose I have no choice but to tell Father."

Harry really didn't think this is what you did with house elves, but the rest of the house elves did seem very happy serving them. He wondered what had happened with Malfoy's.

The house elf, Dobby, stood there glaring, until one of the other house elves pushed him out of the way. "Tinky has prepared many foods for Master Malfoy and his friend, and hopes he will be very pleased." He said with a little bow.

"Thank you." Malfoy said.

It struck Harry as very odd to thank a house elf. As they exited, though, it made perfect sense.

"It is not Dobby's job to be disobeying! Master Malfoy is a good wizard, and you is making us look like bad elves!" He could hear Tinky saying.

"If you thank a good house elf," Malfoy said, "not only will they be very pleased, but they'll sort out the rotten elves. Father taught me that," He finished. "I can't imagine how people go without them. What do muggles do?"

Harry paused, before saying, "They use children."

Malfoy looked at him funny. "You mean to say that they made you clean? A child, without magic? That's barbaric! Servant's work, for the heir of a predominant pureblood family!" Malfoy seemed outraged for him.

"...I suppose that's why they did it. 'To teach me my proper place.'" Harry said, quietly.

For a minute, Malfoy didn't say anything. Harry was a bit afraid he had broken him. "Muggles," Malfoy said, in a voice that Harry imagined he had gotten from his father, "are positively savage."

And although they were only talking about cleaning, thinking about the rest of his life, Harry couldn't help but agree.

Malfoy didn't say anything on the way back to the dorm, and Harry only stopped him once, to avoid Peeves. Then they went back up to their dorm room, where all the other boys had stayed up, waiting for them. 

"Malfoy, I've got the fire, if you remembered to bring apple slices." Theodore Nott said, when they came back.

"Potter, you've read about Samhain, haven't you?" Malfoy asked, back to his normal, drawling tone.

Harry nodded. 

"Then bring me the bowl." Malfoy said, as Crabbe and Goyle took the food from him, all except for an apple they were apparently using for their sacrifice of harvest. 

Every boy in their dorm room took turns thanking their ancestors, even Crabbe and Goyle, who Harry had honestly thought too thick to remember them all. Harry, who had tried to study his family tree, managed a few hundred years worth of ancestors, enough to be normal, at least. He made a point of not mentioning his mother's family.

After they burnt their offerings, which they kept under a glass bowl, so as not to smoke up their dormitory, they ate them, with another blessing. Harry thought it was much better than just eating another feast, like the other houses. Slytherin really did seem like the most traditional house, and, as far as Harry was concerned, the best. 

Perhaps there were a few half bloods who were bullied, but if they were smart enough to be in Slytherin, he was sure they could do what he had done, and find someone like Malfoy, who needed someone to agree with him all the time. 

The rest of the night was spent eating, but Harry felt as though he were included in something for the first time in his life. If not friends, plural, he at least had Malfoy, and everyone else tolerated him for it.

As they were going to bed that night, Harry said to Malfoy, quietly, "Malfoy, thank you. For being my friend."

Malfoy looked surprised. Before Harry had time to worry about assuming they were friends, Malfoy clapped him on the shoulder. "You're welcome, Potter. After all," he said, with a smug look, "someone has to keep you in your real place. Amongst the elite."

Although it might've sounded callous to someone else, Harry felt touched.

Even when Malfoy copied his transfiguration homework the next day. Harry didn't particularly care, and it seemed to improve Malfoy's usual mood in the mornings. 

At least, it did, until Malfoy heard about Longbottom and Weasley defeating the troll. He's in a foul mood after that, and he's determined to get Longbottom in trouble.

"He's absolutely incompetent, but he somehow manages to make himself look like some hero." Malfoy sneered.

Harry nodded, and stirred their potion clockwise. "I heard it was because Granger thought she could fight one."

"Granger. The 'boy-who-lived,' a pauper blood traitor, and a mudblood. They're an absolute disgrace to our school." Malfoy went back to chopping their beetles angrily.

The next day, it was Saturday, and more important, the first Quidditch game of the season. Malfoy seemed very eager, especially since it was Slytherin and Gryffindor playing. 

"Gryffindor hasn't got a strong goalie. Wood is mediocre at best," Malfoy explained. "Flint is a much better captain. And the Gryffindors play 'honestly,' which means they cheat just as much, but they complain about fouls for days."

One of the fourth years, from where he was sitting, nodded. "The announcer is from Gryffindor, and he likes to boo the Slytherin team when they win, so loud you can't hear the crowd."

Harry understood the rules of Quidditch, but he didn't quite understand the excitement of it, until they were in the stands of the Quidditch pitch. Even the Ravenclaws were screaming once the game started, and Malfoy had made it his personal goal to get different sections of the Gryffindor team to start chanting things, until eventually the entire house sounded like they were screaming, "LONGBOTTOM'S A CHEAT." 

It worked, to Harry's great surprise, and Malfoy looked smug for the rest of the game. The Gryffindors spent less time cheering, and more time fighting one another over who had started it, so that no one was actually cheering for Longbottom. Longbottom kept looking at his housemates, to the point where he almost missed the snitch passing by his face.

After that, though, the crowd only seemed to watch Longbottom and Wessing, the Slytherin seeker. They moved around the pitch at the same speed, although Wessing seemed to be taking more chances than Longbottom, diving under beams, trying to lose the other seeker.

But it seemed to pay off, as Wessing almost had the snitch in his hand, when a bludger smashed into his ribs. One of the Weasley twins saluted Longbottom with the bat, and Longbottom closed his fingers around the snitch.

Beside him, Malfoy looked like he might kill Weasley. "Of all the absolute worst times for a Gryffindor to not live up to their bloody honor code...!" Malfoy complained all the way back to the dorm, until Harry invited him to play a game of chess. Harry didn't think the white pieces on Malfoy's chess board would ever be the same.


	7. A Lonely Holiday & Finals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As it turned out, Albus Dumbledore held every single one of his family's seats. Harry felt as though he might burst from anger. According to Harry's readings, as his magical guardian, Dumbledore had been the one who had sent him to live with the Dursleys. All so he could pass things like the 'Muggle Protection Act,' something that Harry was Very Strongly opposed to.
> 
> For all that he had thought Malfoy prejudiced at times, Harry understood now. And Harry was not spending his summer with the Dursleys for Albus Dumbledore's political campaigns. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last two chapters combined. Technically there are eight chapters, but one is half the length of a normal chapter. This book is ridiculously short, because Harry doesn't particularly do anything other than the Sorcerer's stone thing in the first book. The other books will definitely be longer. Speaking of which, there's a preview of the next book in the end notes.

CHAPTER SEVEN: A LONELY HOLIDAY

It was into early December when Professor Snape brought around the registration sheet for students staying during the winter holidays. By the time Harry got it, it had one name on it. The rest of Slytherin house was going home for the holidays, it seemed, as there were only a few people down the table from Harry.

"You know," Malfoy said next to him, "I'd imagine that holidays here won't be entirely awful. You'll have the whole dorm to yourself, and you can always sabotage the Gryffindors' holiday."

Across the table, Zabini looked up from his Charms homework. "Mummy and Daddy getting sick of you, Malfoy?"

Malfoy glared at him, and hissed, "At least I have a father, Zabini."

Zabini glared back as he gathered up his parchment, and as he left, Malfoy looked back at Harry. "Zabini's mother," Malfoy said "has married any powerful wizard she can dig her claws into, for years. Mother says it's disgraceful. "

Harry wondered what Malfoy's parents must be like. They seemed intelligent, but very, very shallow. About the same as Malfoy, really. Almost instantly, Harry felt guilty. That wasn't true, Malfoy could be kind and he had kept Harry from some very painful conversations with the older years.

"...I'm afraid that you'll be missing the Yule. Father's been petitioning to have the school stop celebrating Christmas for years. " Malfoy complained.

"I suppose I can always pretend. Besides, I'll still be sending my Yule gifts out over the twelve days." Harry said.

"Oh, that reminds me. Mother's sending you Yule gifts for your 'outstanding friendship,' or some such thing." Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"...Oh." Harry looked at Malfoy. "You told your mother we were friends?"

"Of course." Malfoy looked at him as though he were being dense. "Mother absolutely detests Crabbe and Goyle, so she was very pleased that I've found a friend who's from the right sort, and who's actually got a brain." 

Harry thought there was probably something else there, because there was no way Mrs. Malfoy didn't know Harry was a half-blood, which very clearly made him only half from the 'right sort.' He made mental a note to look up anything that might've motivated Mrs. Malfoy to be nice to him.

As it turned out, there was a good reason for Mrs. Malfoy to be nice to him. The Potters, Harry had known, were a once large and prestigious family, who had apparently held quite a few seats in the Wizengamot, the wizarding law body. Harry, however, was the last direct descendant of the Potter line.

Since Harry was still underage, his seats would be taken by whoever had custody of him. The Dursleys were muggles, so his seats had gone to someone else. 

It was while Harry was searching for whoever had his family's seats that he saw Weasley and Longbottom, surrounded by piles of books. He thought that if Malfoy were here, they'd already be hexing each other. Harry, however, had better things to do than to insult Longbottom and his pet gerbil.

He was determined to ignore them, until he came back from grabbing books on Wizengamot members, and Weasley scowled at him. "What're you doing Potter, spying on us?" He asked, looking very much like, in Harry's opinion, an angry rodent.

Harry snorted. "You know Weasley, most people come to the library to research, not to have secret meetings." Harry feigned having a sudden idea. "Oh, I get it, Longbottom's teaching you how to read! I was wondering why you were doing so poorly, Weasley. It's no surprise really, I've heard you live in a shack, with twelve other people. Hardly room for books in that budget."

Weasley's face turned a particularly fierce shade of red, and Harry felt a bit bad. He hadn't had any money, until he learned he was a wizard. But then Weasley practically jumped over the table, and punched him in the nose, and Harry didn't feel bad about it any longer. In fact, he was glad he had told Weasley off, because no less than a minute later, a furious Madame Pince found Harry, trying to look defenseless, with a bloodied nose, and a very angry Weasley on top of him, with Neville 'The Golden Boy' Longbottom not yet trying to pull him off.

Madame Pince sent Harry to the infirmary, with the books he had wanted, under threat of death if he bled on them, and Longbottom and Weasley to the Deputy Headmistress. Harry felt very pleased with himself, and spent the rest of the evening curled up on one of the couches in the common room, reading through the Wizengamot's current members.

As it turned out, Albus Dumbledore held every single one of his family's seats. Harry felt as though he might burst from anger. According to Harry's readings, as his magical guardian, Dumbledore had been the one who had sent him to live with the Dursleys. All so he could pass things like the 'Muggle Protection Act,' something that Harry was Very Strongly opposed to.

For all that he had thought Malfoy prejudiced at times, Harry understood now. And Harry was not spending his summer with the Dursleys for Albus Dumbledore's political campaigns. 

Harry had to set aside half-baked plans for revenge, and instead focus on mailing his gifts for the first night of Yule. He only had a couple that the catalog hadn't already sent. It distracted him for a while, but when he went to bed that night, all Harry could think of was his anger at Dumbledore chafing at him.

That night, Harry dreamed that Dudley was playing one of his favorite games, Harry Hunting. Only instead of Dudley's usual cronies, all of their faces were miniature versions of Dumbledore. His eyes twinkled, and as Dudley kicked Harry in the ribs, Dumbledore said from all of the mouths around him, "Muggles need to be protected, Harry. What might wizards do to them?"

Harry woke up suddenly, the phantom feeling of Dudley's foot pressing into his chest the only remainder of his dream. After that, he had problems going back to sleep, and tossed about in bed, until the clock chimed five. Harry took that opportunity to get up and use the loo, and then to look at the impressive pile of presents by the foot of his bed.

It was only the first day of Yule, and there were already more presents on the pile than he had ever had before. Circe, who had spent most of her time wandering about the dorm during the holidays, was sitting at the end of Harry's bed, playing with the string from one of the packages.

Harry pulled the package of enchanted toy mice out of his bag, and tossed one towards where Circe was sitting. As soon as it landed, the mouse sped off into the dorm, followed by Harry's cat. He shook his head, and grabbed the package Circe had been batting. 

It had a letter attached to it, so Harry broke the seal on that first.

Dear Harry, 

I hope holidays at school haven't been horrid. If you've done anything good to Longbottom and his pet weasel, please detail everything in your letter. Happy first day of Yule.

Sincerely,  
Draco Malfoy.  
Post script: I can call you Harry, can't I?

Letter Malfoy had much better manners than real life Malfoy, but Harry appreciated the sentiment. In Slytherin, you needed express permission to call someone by their first name, even in first year.

Harry put the letter from Malfoy- Draco, aside, and opened his package. Inside was a pair of thick dragon hide gloves, and a book on how to write properly with a quill. Harry supposed his handwriting could be better, although Draco had never mentioned not being to read it. He had usually been copying Harry's work, though, and blunt as he may be at times, Draco wasn't dense.

Harry pulled out a quill and some parchment, and wrote,

Draco,

Thank you for the gloves, and for the book. (Although I don't think I really need it.)

Sincerely,  
Harry Potter  
P.S.: Of course, we're friends, aren't we?

Harry wouldn't admit it to Draco, but that was a real question.

Harry moved on to the other gifts in the pile. He'd sent presents to the other boys in the dorm, and they had sent presents back. Harry got a large package of chocolate frogs from Goyle, an extra large box of licorice wands from Crabbe, a large bag of droobles from Zabini, and a book on Pureblood formal events from Nott. 

Mrs. Malfoy had, like Draco said, sent him a box full of casual robes. Harry didn't have any, and these really were excellent. He wrote Mrs. Malfoy back a very sincere thank you letter. 

At the very bottom of the pile, however, was a present covered in plain brown paper, with a note tied to it. 'This belonged to your father. Use it well.'

The note didn't say anything else, so Harry opened the package. Inside, Harry found a cloak, made out of a material he hadn't seen before, not even in the wizarding world. 

He pulled the cloak out, and pulled it around his shoulders. Then his shoulders disappeared. Harry had read about invisibility cloaks before, but this one didn't sound like the ones the books described.

The invisibility cloak was how he found the mirror. He'd been in the library, trying to get some studying done at night, when he had heard Professor Snape talking to someone. Professor Snape, who already seemed to hate him.

So Harry had edged past them on his way out of the library, as Professor Snape seemed ready to curse Professor Quirrell. Harry thought it was strange, but Teachers probably had fights with one another. What he was worried about was being caught, especially after Filch showed up, talking about there being a broken lantern in the restricted section. It wasn't Harry's, but he knew what people would assume, him being in Slytherin.

Which was how he found the mirror. Harry had pulled the cloak off when he ducked into the empty classroom, so when looked into the mirror, he expected to see himself. Instead, he saw a teenage boy, with his green eyes, but with neat hair, and two elegant adults standing behind him. Harry wasn't sure who they were, but they were both nodding at him in approval. On older-Harry's chest, there was a head boy's badge. 

Harry left almost as soon as he came, but the image of the witch and wizard, proud because of him, stayed with him for the rest of the night.

Over the course of Yule, Harry received and read over fifteen books, mostly on Pureblood culture, or ancient holidays, but a few on Quidditch. He also ended up with a large box worth of sweets, and a whole new set of robes, courtesy of Mrs. Malfoy.

And, although he was tempted, Harry didn't go back to look at the strange mirror.

CHAPTER EIGHT: FINALS

As soon as winter holidays ended, teachers started preparing for finals. Homework increased, studying took up more time, and even Crabbe and Goyle started asking for help.

Harry spent more time than usual talking to Draco while they studied, quietly asking questions he had, based off of the books he had gotten for Yule. He learned a lot of things about wizards in general, but he also learned how to read status in robe choices (his apparently said he was an heir to a powerful family), which fork to use, and a few other things.

What Harry thought was most important, though, was that Draco, who Longbottom had refused to be friends with, now had to have Longbottom expelled.

Or at least keep trying. Because, three weeks before final exams, Draco somehow found out that Longbottom and Granger were going to smuggle out a dragon, and Draco decided he was going to rat them out.

The only problem was, he ended up getting himself a detention with them. In the Forbidden Forest. Where, if Draco was to be believed, Longbottom almost got him killed,  
and they watched a unicorn die.

Harry did his Potions' homework while he listened to Malfoy complain angrily, and write his father a letter on how he got detention and almost died.

"Did they actually have a dragon?" Harry asked, once Draco had stopped muttering angrily.

Which sent him off onto another rant, on how the "idiot gamekeeper" had one, and how Longbottom and Granger had somehow gotten their hands on it, while Weasley had led Filch about in circles.

Harry really wondered why they had bothered. Why not just let the gamekeeper be fired? Gryffindors, Harry concluded, were self-sacrificing morons.

Finals, in fact, weren't as hard as everyone had made them out to be. Harry figured it was because they were only first years, as even Crabbe and Goyle had gotten questions right. They weren't exactly easy, but after three weeks of studying, they weren't impossible.

The last week of classes were relaxed, as the teachers had mostly stopped teaching new material. The thing that everyone really wanted to talk about, though, was how Longbottom had apparently killed Professor Quirrell, who was either a vampire, possessed by the dark lord, or a Romanian impostor.

Harry wasn't sure which of those theories he believed, although they all seemed very unlikely. What Harry did believe, however, was that whatever they had done, Professor Dumbledore was definitely prejudiced towards the Gryffindors. They came from last place to first, and Slytherin lost its track record for winning the house cup six years in a row. Draco looked like he might strangle Longbottom himself. "Saint Longbottom, who trips over his own feet, but has 'saved us all!' It's utter shite." 

Draco didn't snap out of his bad mood until they were on the train home, when Harry bought him a whole pack of chocolate frogs.

"What are these for?" Draco asked him, as he pulled one open.

"So you'll stop pouting." Harry hid his grin at Draco's offended face.

"And just when I was going to share." He turned his nose at him, and let the frog out.

Harry waited until Draco was distracted, then snagged one. "Why Draco, I'm so glad you didn't reconsider." Harry said, flashing a Salazar Slytherin card at him.

Which was how Crabbe and Goyle found Draco Malfoy trying to grab a chocolate frog card, while trying to keep one out of his hair.

After a few cleansing spells, they'd both put themselves back to rights, and when they left the Hogwarts express, Harry was in soaring spirits.

Draco led him over to a tall blonde man who looked like an older version of himself. "Father, this is Harry Potter." Draco introduced him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." Harry said, with what he hoped was a proper traditional bow.

Mr. Malfoy looked him over for a moment, before he offered Harry his hand, currently covered in a fine leather glove. "A pleasure. Your manners are impeccable, Mr. Potter."

Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable, but he focussed on giving what he hoped was a dignified smile. "Thank you, sir."

Just as Mr. Malfoy seemed about to say something, a tall shadow fell over them, and Harry turned to find the Hogwarts' groundskeeper standing behind him. "Yer Harry Potter, aren'tcha?" He asked.

When Harry nodded, the man said, "M'Name's Hagrid. Professor Dumbledore's asked me te make sure ye aren't runnin' off on yer relatives. 'They were real 'bout you, all on yer lonesome in London."

Harry could feel the blood drain from his face. Professor Dumbledore, he had thought, wouldn't be able to say where Harry spent the summer. He had apparently thought wrong.

The man, Hagrid, led him away from the Malfoys, and over to where Uncle Vernon stood, glaring angrily at anyone who moved too close. Harry hadn't thought he'd be allowed through the barrier, but he'd been wrong about that, too.

"Well, there ye are. I'll be Professor Dumbledore that yer in safe hands, then." Hagrid said, as he walked away. 

Uncle Vernon glowered at him, and Harry looked back towards the Malfoys. "Boy," Uncle Vernon snapped, "don't make me regret taking you back."

Harry followed Uncle Vernon out of the train station, and sighed. Another awful summer was in store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "CHAPTER ONE: THE VISITOR
> 
> Harry Potter's summer, which he had planned on being the same as the last twelve, was, in fact, worse than any he could remember.
> 
> For daring to run away from 'home,' Harry had been locked in his cupboard almost as soon as he'd walked through the door, just as soon as Dudley had shoved him around. 
> 
> Harry had spent a full two weeks in his normal punishment, of no food, except for one bowl of cold soup, every two days, and as much water as he could drink from the tap. His cupboard, however, hadn't grown any with Harry, so he'd been crammed into a much smaller space than even he was used to.
> 
> It was on the second week of Harry's punishment that Uncle Vernon let him out of the cupboard, and Harry was immediately put to work making breakfast. As soon as he was finished, Aunt Petunia had him scrubbing the dirt Dudley had tracked onto the kitchen floor.
> 
> Harry had been trying not to be sick, as he had eaten a piece of toast, more food than he'd had in weeks, when someone knocked on the door. Aunt Petunia, who had been watching television in the den, came out to answer the door, and glared at him when he looked up from his scrubbing.
> 
> As she opened the door, she began to say, 'We're not interested in buying anything-,' when she was cut off by a familiar voice."


End file.
